


leaving mars

by illgivethattoyou



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Clarke Doesn't Leave, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, One Shot, Personal Favorite, Post-Episode: s02e16 Blood Must Have Blood Part II, Post-Mount Weather, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illgivethattoyou/pseuds/illgivethattoyou
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke struggle to leave the war when the peace settles in, but if they work together, maybe they can move past everything.Or, both have nightmares and they need someone to keep them attached to reality.





	leaving mars

Bellamy had been running. He'd been running from the moment his little sister came to him in their compartment on Factory. Running from the law, his enemies, his demons. When he ran, he didn't have to face it. Not any of it.

So he ran and became a killer. Three hundred people on the Ark; over fourty kids from the hundred delinquents sent to die; another three hundred in the mountain. When he was running, he was on the move, so the hits that he took were certainly taken, but not enough to put him to a stop.

After they pulled that lever, he and Clarke -- who was doing the exact same thing, Bellamy knew -- they both knew they had to come to a stop somewhere. _She wouldn't do it alone_ , he'd promised. He meant it, but facing it in itself was the biggest challenge of all. It seemed so easy for him and his co-leader, to sink into work; drown themselves in it, if only to avoid looking at those faces at night.

He caught Clarke in the med bay, running her moonshine-soaked rags over the equipment for the third day in a row, without the tools actually being used in between. Her motions were feverish, rushed, as to drown out her thoughts. He slumped against the doorframe and watched her shaking hands for a while. Then he coughed. She turned.

She seemed to regain her diplomacy, and rubbed her hands together after she put down her work. "Bellamy," she acknowledged him.

"Clarke," he pressed his lips together, unsure of how to tell her. How to make her see that she needed to tend to the bruises under her eyes, if only for an hour or three. He wanted to let her know; she wasn't in this alone.

"You okay?" Her eyes became worried, and she eyed him from head to toe. Somehow, it felt like she hoped to find him hurt somewhere. It meant she was to do her job, as always. Keep everyone safe. With whatever it took.

"I am," he nodded, stepping closer carefully. His hands hovered, hesitating to take hers. They shook. He didn't want to see it. "but you're not, Clarke. You need to get some sleep."

She stared up for a moment, and huffed out a quiet laugh, averting her gaze. "Right," she breathed. "You're one to talk. When did you last sleep? Or eat?"

He swallowed. Of course he knew that Clarke would see straight through him. He'd seen himself in the few reflective surfaces in Arkadia; he knew he looked just like her. He also knew that he couldn't be telling her to just get some sleep, because it didn't come that easy. But Gods, he just needed her to live. He just wanted her to make it out of this alive. It was a new war, after all; one that no one else could feel.

"They need you, Clarke. With the few medics Arkadia has..." He trailed off, looking at the shiny tools on the table. "Besides, I know you cleaned those yesterday, and the day before. Save your energy for when you need it."

In that moment, he could see her lose every speck of poise she had left. Her jaw tensed, she worried her lip, her eyes watered as she looked up at him. She looked desperate.

He couldn't keep himself. He approached, and slowly took her hands, making sure his own didn't shake when he made an attempt to steady them. "You need to _try_ , Clarke."

She blinked, and nodded, worry taking over her face. "It isn't easy," she finally told him, voice low to hide its cracks.

He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. "I know, Clarke." He was painfully aware of how absolutely shattered it sounded.

She'd been staring intently at his chest, even though her gaze was probably focused on something Bellamy couldn't see. "So should you, Bellamy," she then urged, her eyes coming back up. "Arkadia needs you, too." She swallowed, pressing her lips together. "I need you."

It felt like a lifetime since she last said that; against the tree near the military bunker. When he'd killed Dax, and she told him that he did the right thing. He saved her life. And she wanted him to come back with her, because _she needed him_. He couldn't possibly forget about that.

Without actually agreeing, he found himself nodding in her direction. She offered a smile; if only it had looked like a real one. Clarke gazed on for some time, and then turned back to screw the bottle of moonshine shut. "Come on, Bellamy," she urged. "Let's get something to eat."

______

_Waves lapped at his ankles as he splashed through the stream. It looked like the stream they'd passed when looking for Jasper, a long time ago. But Finn wasn't in front of him to look at blood and broken branches. In fact, there wasn't much in front of him but the stream. The water seemed to move in slow-motion, attempting to lure him into the same pace. But he couldn't slow down. He needed to be somewhere._

_"Come on, Bellamy," Octavia was suddenly there, whining for him to give into the rhythmic movements of the water's pulse. She was wading behind him, her hand in his._

_"No, Octavia. We need to move," he told her, and kept telling her, his hand not loosening around hers. Bellamy didn't question what he was looking for. Someone was dying. Who it was; that didn't matter. He needed to get there._

_"Bellamy," Octavia groaned, a brief echo in her voice._

_"Don't you get it, O?! Someone's dying! I won't let it happen, not on my watch!"_

_He turned to face her, but she was far behind. The water had taken her._

_"Octavia!" he yelled, watching her as her eyes filled themselves with fear. A metal restraint locked around her throat. Her eyes drooped and her war paint dripped over her cheeks. He attempted to move against the waves, but they wouldn't let him._ You should have surrendered _, the water told him._

_"I will, please!" Bellamy yelled, but the water didn't reply. The background enveloped them in black; the metal turned into a noose. He was wearing one, too._

_Jasper held onto the rope. Maya had a hold of his sister's. "No stepping in this time," Jasper grinned. But it wasn't his voice. Bellamy couldn't identify it._

_"Please," His voice was so hoarse._ Octavia. Octavia. Octavia _. "I deserve this, I know. But not her, not Octavia, no--"_

_"Don't you get it, Bellamy?" That wasn't Maya speaking, either. He realised he was listening to his mother. Slowly, their features melted together, until Aurora held onto that rope. "Whatever you do now, you're killing your sister. Your sister. Your responsibility, Bellamy. What have you become?"_

_"Don't do this--" he brought out. The noose tightened. "That's-- She's your daughter."_

_"Thanks to you," Aurora whispered. "She'd be dead anyway." And then she kicked over the box._

_Bellamy was screaming, for as far as he could while the rope restricted every breath. Aurora was gone, the accepting glance he'd seen on her face in the airlock chamber. She floated, and there wasn't anything he could do for Octavia._

______

She was terrified of sleeping by now. The promise she made to Bellamy; she knew she couldn't keep it. Not possibly. But he was so gentle with her these days; all the calm and understanding she didn't deserve. She was a mass murderer. How could she take care of herself with that image of three hundred people, most of them innocent, choking on their own breath as their throats began to blister, behind her eyes? How dare she?

It didn't make sense to her that she was making her way over to him. Maybe she wanted that undeserved forgiveness. Maybe she just went over to tell him she couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't focus. And he would understand; he was Atlas by nature, carrying the world on his back. He would easily take every burden if it meant keeping that weight off of others' shoulders.

Her chest felt heavy as she neared his room. If he was awake, what could she tell him? Coming there felt like admitting that she wanted to take care of herself. It felt like she was telling him to take care of her, somehow.

Those worries paled when she heard him cry out. His sister's name. She didn't hesitate anymore, just threw the door open and stumbled inside. She remembered to close the door before she walked over. "Bellamy?" Her voice was too small, damn it. "Bellamy!"

His eyes opened and he sat up with a jolt, his limbs trashing to force his back against the wall. His breaths came out in short pants. When he saw her in the faint light, his breathing began to slow. "Clarke?"

"Hey," she greeted quietly, her hand reaching out for his. He grabbed it eagerly, held it like his life depended on it. That slowly ebbed away as well, until he let go and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He patted the thin mattress, urging her to sit. She did. His breathing was a little ragged still. "You're okay, Bellamy. It was just a dream."

Clarke could feel him stare down on her as she stroked his knee. His hands were balled to fists at his hips, but he slowly relaxed to rest them in his lap. "You get them too, huh?" His voice cracked.

She looked up, not sure if he could see the reassuring look she gave him. "Yeah," she admitted, lightly bumping her shoulder into his.

"Gods, Clarke," he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. His mouth opened to say something else, but no sound came out.

Clarke squeezed his thigh. "I know," she breathed. "Come on, lie down. You're okay. You'll get through this." She needed this. She was telling him that everything would be fine, and even though she didn't see it herself, maybe she'd believe it after a while. When he laid back, she proceeded to pull away, preparing herself to go back to her room.

"Clarke," he said, his voice deep and raw with emotion. His hand landed on hers, and lingered there. She looked back to him, and he scooted over a little in the bed. She eyed the space he created, but agreed quietly, lowering herself onto the bed and peeling her boots off.

When she rested her head on the pillow next to him, he put a hesitant arm around her. "Is this okay?" he asked. 

She nodded. It was more than okay. She snuggled in closer. "This okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "Night, Clarke."

"Night, Bellamy."

______

It certainly helped, having Clarke near him. Of course, she couldn't take the nightmares away, and occasionally he'd wake up to her yelling, but she made sure his breathing fell back in place and he could eventually go back to sleep again. Sometimes he'd wake up with silent tears streaming down his face, but her warm back against his chest reminded him that he truly wasn't alone.

They would try to sleep by themselves for a few nights, but either he ended up in her room, or she came to his. They barely spoke about the nightmares; just reminded each other that they were safe, and it was just a dream.

During the day, they'd go separate ways. Bellamy would spend his hours mapping the territory, and she'd occasionally come with, to add to her inventory of mutated plants and their new functions. She made a book with schematic illustrations and brief descriptions in neat script. The remaining time she spent in the med bay.

As the evening set in, they met for dinner more often, to push each other to eat something substantial. The conversation during dinner remained light. They could talk business or discuss special things they encountered that day. Most of the time, they joined up with a group of other delinquents. They'd be able to laugh, and nudge each other if they saw one of them prodding at their food without having a bite.

Slowly, but surely, Bellamy and Clarke began to fix each other.

______

Clarke rested on her side, staring over the still empty half of the pillow. A few days ago, she and Bellamy had agreed that they could sleep in only t-shirts from now on. They used to be in charge, and when you're in charge, you're ready at every second of the day. But they both needed to get it into their heads that things weren't as urgent anymore. They could take that ten seconds to slip on a pair of pants when they woke up to something important. At night, he wrapped his legs around hers, making her feel protected, and telling him that he was truly needed by someone.

Not a minute later, a soft creak at the door announced his arrival. He greeted her with a whisper, ditched his jeans and jacket, and slid into bed next to her. Automatically, Clarke crept towards him, taking in the immense heat that radiated off him. She watched him smile contently. She didn't fully manage to return it.

"Something up?" he asked quietly, the low voice rumbling in his chest.

"No, just thinking," Clarke shook her head lightly.

A frown pulled over his face. "Care to share?" he spoke, after a moment.

Clarke studied him, his features in the faint light, familiar concern etched into them. A thought came, reminding her of what she had, making her smile a real smile. "You were right," she whispered. "I can't do this alone."

Bellamy seemed a little taken aback, but he relaxed, his soft but strong arms drawing her in a bit more. She tucked her head into his chest. "Neither can I," he finally admitted, voice only a whisper. "I need you, too, Clarke."

Her eyes opened. He could feel her lashes flutter against the skin on his collarbone. "And it's gonna get better, isn't it?" She heard a child talking, scared and ignorant. Like it lost every speck of confidence. Sure, Bellamy empowered her every move as a leader, but at night, she was just Clarke. He knew she wasn't weak, but she could be scared. And so could he. She knew that he knew; was a little flattered by it. He dared to show himself to only a few, and that made her one of the most privileged people on Earth.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply a couple of times. Then, he answered: "I think so," After giving it another thought, he corrected himself. "We're gonna go up from here, Clarke. Only up."

She looked up, their gazes catching and lingering briefly. Then she ducked back down, pressing her nose in the crook of his neck. "Sounds good," she mumbled.

He pressed a gentle kiss on top of her crown and stared at the wall over her head. "Yeah," He absent-mindedly huffed out a laugh, not really meant for her to hear. "damn right, it does."


End file.
